motherhood
by gayzula
Summary: It is not every day that your dead son turns up on the doorstep, clutching the dead body of the human child you took in after they freed everyone from the Underground.


There is a ghost standing in your doorstep, and you think your eyes must be deceiving you, that this _must_ be a trick of light, an illusion. Because, there is simply _no possible way_ he's real - you saw him turn into dust with your own eyes over a century ago. (A _long, painful_ century.)

But he looks exactly as you remember him.

Not the way he looked moments before he died - tall and godlike, empowered by the soul of his dead sibling - Chara - and stricken with grief. When the look in his eyes told you, _This is the end of the line, Mom. I'm going to join Chara._ When he cried, out for the last time and something like guilt washed through his gaze-and then he was no more.

No.

He looks like his sweet innocent self, with his fluffy white fur and his pea-green eyes shining in wonder, his green and yellow striped shirt that matched Chara's, because really - those two were twins in everything but body. Though...

You suppose the look in his eyes changed slightly. His head is slightly bowed, and you note, that he's refusing to meet your gaze. Then, you notice what's in his embrace - or rather, _who_ is in his embrace - and for the second time today, your heart shatters.

Frisk looks almost peaceful in his arms, their eyes closed. Their cheeks are a little pale, though, and there's something off about the way their arms fall alongside Asriel's body, relaxed.

But even though, it may seem as if they're soundly sleeping, a sweet, peaceful expression on their face, you have seen enough - all - of your children dead to recognize the sight before you.

 _No._ No, this-this is why you know that what you're seeing simply _cannot_ be real. Frisk is alive and well, and you saw them not even a half an hour ago, when they told you they were going for a short walk. They love to sort their thoughts in the fresh air. And Asriel has been dead for a century, died clutching Chara's numb and limp body the way he is now clutching Frisk's.

This sight is familiar, _too_ familiar, and perhaps somewhat eerie. And the world is getting blurry, a surreal motion surrounding your field of vision, and you feel weak in the knees, and you - _refuse -_ to believe - this is real. It's not.

It's not, it's not, it's not. It _has_ to be an illusion - or dream, right?

That's it, this must be a dream-a _horrible_ nightmare, not unlike those that have been haunting you since that dreadful night you lost both your children.

Except-

You cannot remember falling asleep, and-

It's getting hard to breathe - you pant and sob - and heavy - gasps - leave your mouth - and your vision gets blurry - and every tear you shed breaks your heart - your _soul -_ in half - again - again - again - again - and-

 _He_ is crying, too. Acting on an instinct - there is no time to think, no _place_ to think - you capture him- _him and Frisk-_ into your arms, embracing him tightly. You expect him to disappear under your touch, _except he doesn't,_ and you both cry into each other's shoulders.

There are two sides of you at war, because, as horrified as you are to admit it, a part of you wants it to be real. A part of you wants to have your son back, and doesn't care about the causes or consequences - because you missed him _so, so much,_ and it hurt every single moment of your existence, to know you failed as a mother, to have survived your child's death...

But the other part is _petrified, frozen_ in shock, in fear _,_ because, between the two of you, in your embrace, there is lifeless Frisk, another child lost, dead. And, perhaps, it is the universe's way of telling you that you were never meant to be a mother, not, when every child you take in ends up dead. Perhaps, it is your punishment for not stopping Asgore, not changing his mind, for not being strong enough to protect the other six human children.

Or rather, it would be - if this was real. But it's _not,_ it _can't be._ If it was, you would break _completely,_ you would break, and you would disappear into the nothingness, into the ashes, because you cannot bear to lose another child. Not Frisk.

 _Perhaps,_ it occurs you, _this is real, and Frisk is gone -_ Why? How? - and seeing Asriel is just a way of your mind soothing you, protecting you from the cruelty of this world. Perhaps, you already lost it-and you're just... confused.

And then, he whispers, "Mom," in a soft sob, and his voice is just like you remember. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he keeps repeating like a mantra.

"Are you real?" you whisper back, not knowing what answer you hope for.

You let him out of your hug, so you can look at him, so you can memorize his features all over again. You know you would never forget the face of your son, yet it stays one of your worst fears anyway.

"I... am. And I haven't been for a long time."

There is a question in your eyes, a question you're too afraid to utter - but he must see it anyway, because he tells you, "It's complicated," he sniffs, sparing Frisk a glance full of affection. But there is no way he could have, is it? There is no way Asriel could ever know Frisk.

"Please," you mouth, voiceless, unable to force your voice out of your throat. "I _have_ to know for certain, my child."

He takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay." He braces himself. "I... was brought back. " He falls silent. Then, corrects himself, " _Frisk_ brought me back."

 _"How?"_

"They gave me their soul," he touches his chest lightly. "They're still here with me, conscious. Inside my mind," he confesses.

A spark of hope - a nice, warm feeling - fills your chest. "H-how does it work?"

"They see everything I see. And hear everything I hear. I can let them say hello?" he offers

You nod, not trusting your voice not to break again.

Asriel closes his eyes. Something changes in his face, expression more calm, less distressed. More relaxed. Then his eyes open - still the same shade of brilliant green. Asriel looks reserved, more than ever. You have never seen _this_ look on his face, what with Asriel being a naturally cheerful and open person. This, you have no doubt, is Frisk written all over his face.

They offer you a small smile, signing, _Hello, Mom. I'm sorry I didn't warn you beforehand, but I know you would never let me do this._

Tears spill from your eyes, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Oh, you foolish, foolish child!" you laugh, and you cry, and you _live._

Nothing could prepare you, though, for what happens next. The expression shifts once more, but doesn't settle into the familiar openness of Asriel. Their eyes widen a little and flash _red._ Their shoulders fall in an attempt to make themselves look smaller - something you saw only one person do. The face they're making is remorseful and outright guilty.

"Greetings, Mother," they say, voice small. "It's me, Chara."

And suddenly, you're hugging.

"How?" you repeat your question from earlier.

"Complicated," says Asriel. "Would you mind if we told you sometimes later?"

 _I promise we'll tell you the whole story someday,_ adds Frisk.

"But not now," whispers Chara."It's still too difficult to deal with."

"It's alright," you reassure them. "Whenever you're ready." You smile at them.

You don't pretend to understand it - and perhaps you never will - but knowing the three of your children are alive and well, no matter the unconventional situation they're in, is enough.

It's enough, and more.

You're happy.


End file.
